Think Yourself Thin, or: the Fat Lady Tries Dieting
by soulnecklace
Summary: Tired of her name, the Fat Lady begins a diet. But does she have the will-power to resist a Malfoy?
1. Chapter 1

Think Yourself Thin, or: the Fat Lady Tries Dieting.

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**Author's Note: This is a four or five chapter adventure romp, exploring the boundaries of fiction; where does story end and reality begin? A blend of Harry Potter, mixed in with too many other characters to be called a cross-over. **

**Enjoy. Comments, as always, very welcome.**

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How long have I been at Hogwarts? Oh, a very, very long time. Mind you, I haven't always been hung here. I've changed about a bit; in a security job you do have to keep your eyes peeled. I used to have a position on the outer walls, where I could see the whomping willow's branches move about, and warn the goblins of intruders. But that was partly outdoor work (there was a fresco painted on the walls) and I preferred being inside. It was safer for my paintwork, you understand.

The downside of the job was my name.

The Fat Lady, they called me. I was only known by the size of my waist. So that's when I decided to go on a diet. And that's how it all happened.

I stopped drinking alcohol. Even when the monks left a barrel lying there, just ready to be swallowed, I had to be strong. I avoided still-lives. There's too much cheese and cake in those paintings. I tried to exercise more. I joined in activity paintings; the ones of villagers, dancing on the green. Or paintings of a landscape, all fuzzy Italian cypresses and light green hills, set into the background behind a grimacing saint. I'd walk up and down the poorly painted hills, trying to burn the calories.

Motivation and encouragement was what I needed, so Gryffindor's got new passwords. Words that reassured me in my quest for thinness:

'_Think yourself thin.'_

'_To dream, to diet.'_

'_Frugality is all.'_

I refused to think that change is impossible. 'I can be anything I want to be' I whispered (it was too long for a password). And I believed I could be thin.

The trouble was, all that thinking about food began distracting me from my work. I didn't even see this one coming.

I blinked. There was a boy, standing in front of me, his head on one side. His blond hair caught the light, and he smiled. He said something, but lost in a dream of thinness and hunger, I did not hear him.

'Pardon? What did you say?'

'I said, plum pudding with brandy sauce.' He held up a photograph. So realistic; the brandy sauce glistened, and moved in thick waves across the steaming pudding. I couldn't help it. My mouth watered, and my good intentions disappeared.

'You know you want it,' whispered Scorpius Malfoy, 'come on, now.'

He lifted it higher, moved closer.

I could almost smell the warm butter, the creamy brandy.

'Come on,' he murmured. 'No-one will ever know.'

'Go away,' I groaned. 'You're a little toad, Malfoy.' I tell myself: '_Thin is Good. Thin is What I Want to Be._'

But it was too much. And in less than a heartbeat, there I was in the picture and oh, it was like heaven. Rich, moist currants and thick, creamy sauce. I ran a finger around the edge of the plate and put it to my mouth.

The world turned dark.

He'd rolled up the photograph.

'Hey,' I shouted, pushing at the edge of the paper.

Entrapment. That's what it was.

So here I was, stuck in a plum pudding photograph. Not much of a security guard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two now. Yes I know it is a bit short, but this was the best place to end it. Honestly. I can promise the next will be longer!**

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Light flooded in, blinding, as the photograph was unrolled.

"Well," said a lady's voice, "Now that's an unusual image."

A man and a woman were gaping at me; the man's mouth was slightly open. They didn't have the good manners to introduce themselves; they just stared.

"He's a genius," said the man. "No doubt about it."

The woman wrinkled her nose. "It's certainly different. I don't know if I'd call it _genius_."

"Oh, but Martha," said the man. "Look. A plump woman, caught in the act of stealing food? Look at her expression. She looks as guilty as sin."

I glowered at him. It was a horrible moment; my face wouldn't move. Here I was, stuck in a photograph, next to a beautiful pudding, and I couldn't move my face, let alone reach the food.

"You might be right," said the woman. She nodded. "Very well. Let's put it up on the wall. In the Teenspace – they don't seem to mind peculiar photographs."

The man smiled. "Peculiar is good, for a teenager."

The photograph, with me in it, was pinned to the wall. The pins didn't hurt, thank God, but it felt most irregular to be without a frame. Frozen into place I stared out at rows and rows of books. I was in a library, a library full of muggles.

It was a horrible day. Struck silent and immobile, I spent my time worrying: What will happen to me? And what of the children I was supposed to protect? I had an image of Gryffindorians, queuing restlessly outside the empty frame of my portrait, unable to get into their common room. Unable even to go to bed. That Malfoy! He was just like his father. And like his father, he will come to no good.

Spotty-faced teenagers came and went. Some looked unhappy and glowered at the books, as though the pages concealed something painful. They had metal pins inserted into lips and cheeks and their skin was pale. One or two of the visitors noticed me. They moved closer, staring. A girl, with good skin and only two piercings, smiled slightly. It was nice to see a smile on that strained face. I would have liked to smile back, but I couldn't, I was fixed in this attitude of guilt.

The long day passed. My face, my body ached. Even if I was a portrait, I wasn't used to standing still for so long. But gradually, the Teenspace grew quiet, and there were no more visitors. Outside, the daylight faded. Librarians passed through the chambers of books, pushing white buttons, and the lights went out. The library grew dark.

I sighed. Then stopped, amazed. I made a noise! I tweaked my finger. My foot. I can move! I stepped away from the pudding. It had long-since congealed, all its lovely sauce set and oh so unattractive.

"You're new." There was a little girl, staring up at me. She was very tiny, barely three inches tall. She appeared to shimmer, catching the light at strange angles, and as she turned she seemed to become translucent.

"Yes," I peered down at her. "What's your name, child?"

"Milly. And that's my dog. His name's Fluff."

Sure enough, there was a dog behind her. Fluff was a good name; the dog was a small, tufty thing that looked like an animated cotton ball.

"Hello, Milly," I said. "Hello Fluff."

Fluff woofed a small, brief greeting.

"I'm the Fat Lady," I said.

She considered me carefully. "You're not fat."

"I'm not?" I said, looking down at my stomach. It didn't seem to have changed since I've been stuck in this frame. "It's what everybody calls me."

"Do you like that photo?"

"I hate it," I said, with feeling. "But I'm stuck here."

"Not at night, you're not. Come on. I'll show you."

And before I knew anything, it was bam! out of the picture and onto the carpet. And I saw the child was right. I was amazingly slim - two-dimensional even. I blinked at the world. So much freedom – I'm not even inside a portrait. I could walk anywhere!

"Where? What? How can I be outside the picture?" I looked up at the photograph of the unappealing pudding.

"It's a library," she said. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Libraries are magical."

"They are?"

This was the muggle world – I'd heard enough tales of muggles and mudblood (an awful word, but there you are, best to say it right out loud and be done with it) to know there was no magic in their world. None at all. "It's impossible."

"Course it's not," said the tiny girl. "There's always magic in a library. But at night, it's stronger."

She was right. I could feel a fizz, a pop to the air. Something was about to happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

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"Better move away," said Milly, picking up Fluff. She grabbed my hand, pushed me behind a small, wheeled trolley, put her finger against her lips. "Ssh".

And the place exploded! Books burst open; their pages ruffling like a hundred thousand fans, sending the air spinning. Leaping from the pages characters jumped into the evening air. They danced along the bookshelves, calling to each other, laughing at their freedom.

"It's pretty wild in this section," said Milly. "This is young adult." A pale boy reached for an equally pale girl. When they smiled, I saw pointed teeth. They seemed oblivious to everyone – staring so deeply into each other's eyes that I felt embarrassed to be watching.

A girl jumped from stack of books. The string of a bow was pressed against her cheek, an arrow drawn and ready. Intently, like a cat stalking prey, she moved along the bookshelves. Seeing her, the other characters hid behind books or tucked themselves onto the rafters. Milly stuck out her tongue at the hunter's retreating back.

"She's a real pain," she muttered. "We keep telling her she don't need to hunt us, that this is a library, but she says she's got to fight to the death. Mental, that's what she is. You hungry?"

I shrugged. Being stuck in a picture by a pudding had cured me of my appetite.

She dragged me away from the hunter with the bow and arrow, down the corner, into the non-fiction section. It was noisier than the fiction aisles; animals roaring, people shouting. A woman in ornate dress and a gold crown swept past us.

"Your Majesty," said Milly, trying to curtsey, still holding her dog.

The queen barely glanced at us.

"That's Elizabeth the First," said Milly. "But she don't like me calling her that."

"What? Elizabeth?"

"No. "First". Says she's the _only_ Queen Elizabeth. No first about it. It's the biography section here. They're all right toffee-noses. Being the main person in a book all about you makes you stuck up."

All the biography characters had arranged themselves in attitudes of importance – scowling into the distance, or standing in a thoughtful pose, or doing something that could only be related to their story – a ballet dancer in an arabesque, a golfer with a stick. No quidditch players, unfortunately. I'm rather partial to quidditch. We glided past the biography section, ignored by its famous inhabitants.

"Here we are," said Milly

Ah, this was more like it! The cookbook section. Chefs, white hats high on their heads, stirred pots. Cakes tumbled from pages. Steaming sauces, poured over glistening roasts. Salads, greener than a garden and bread, steaming from the oven. Food I'd never seen before. In Hogwarts, the house-elves have very limited imagination, but here, in the library, was food from all corners of the world. And the smell! Bread, freshly baked. Grinding coffee. Roasting meat.

"Come on," said Milly. "They get offended if you don't eat."

"I can't," I said. "I'm on a diet."

She looked at me. "You're as thin as a piece of paper."

Of course. I should have thought of that. Even in my portrait frame, I could never be fatter than the canvas on which I had been painted. How dare they call me fat? Each child at Hogwarts would be fatter than I. Why, even the house-elves would be larger!

Plates, pulled from the pages of home ware books, were laid out on the bookshelf. Fictional and non-fictional characters jostled each other, trying to be the first to the food. Chefs and kitchen-hands set out their cooking while the characters queued, holding out a plate. It seemed like a competition; some of the cooks called out instructions as they ladled out the food.

We each grabbed a plate, and queued with the others. Milly's plate was almost larger than she. Fluff trailed behind us and sniffed at the air.

"Just a dollop of cream," said one young man. "Not too much now, just enough to add a bit of flavor."

"It's smoking the meat," said a black-haired lady with pale skin, "that makes it so fabulously piquant." Carefully, she served tiny wedges of pale pink chicken.

"They're TV chefs," whispered Milly. "They think we're their audience."

"What's TV?"

She stared at me.

An emaciated boy stood at the front of the queue. Milly groaned.

"Please sir," said the boy, "Can I have some more?"

"Its that bloody Oliver again," Milly said. "We'll be here all night."

"Ooi, Oliver," called a scruffy ragamuffin. "Let the other folks through, there's a good lad."

We settled into a quiet corner to eat. I felt better with food inside me. Proper food, not just pudding.

"Good, aunt it?" said Milly, polishing her plate with a morsel of bread. "No-one starves in a library."

"What are you doing here?" I asked her. "What's your story, then?"

She looked around, as if someone might be listening. "I'm not really in a story," she whispered. "Shouldn't be here at all. I'm from an iPad."

"An eye-pad? Don't you mean an eye patch? Like a pirate?"

She stared at me. "Course not. Do I look like a pirate?"

"You are a bit, well, undersized."

She smiled. "I'm from a kids book. Animated."

"A story about an animal?"

"No, silly. It's a book with pictures that move. On an iPad screen."

"Don't all pictures move?"

She stared at me. "What world do you come from?"

I told her about Hogwarts, about the odious Scorpius Malfoy, about my important job and how all the poor children from Gryffindor would be locked out in the cold.

"Gryffindor, Gryffindor. Where have I heard that name?" she tapped a translucent finger against her cheek.

"I blame the Potters, myself. If that stupid Harry hadn't stirred up all this trouble, well, my life would have been a lot simpler."

"Harry," she said reflectively. "Harry."

"Harry Potter," I said. "Mind you, it was a long time ago now."

"Of course!" she said "Harry Potter! Ain't read the books myself, way too long for me. I'm waiting for the animated version. Which book are you from, then?"

"Book? I'm not from a book. I told you. I'm from a school. I'm a portrait, at a school."

"Yeah, yeah, you said. Come on, let's go."

"Go where?"

"See if there's any Harry Potter books in, silly. Problem is, they're real popular. There aunt many on the shelves."

We left our dirty plates beside a large tub of washing up water. The plates grew little legs and climbed into the water, floating about on the top like large lilies. The knives and forks jumped in on top, clattering on the china, and shouting out in thin, reedy voices.

"That's from _Sword in the Stone_," said Milly. "Come on. The children's section this way."

We pushed past the travel section, full of camels and pyramids; jeeps and African villages, through the science and technology, a surprisingly silent area, except for a few machines that made strange noises to each other, and down some stairs into…. Chaos.


	4. Chapter 4

Think Yourself Thin, or: the Fat Lady Tries Dieting. Chapter Four

**Authors Note: I'm wondering if this should be listed as a Cross-over? Too late now but feedback appreciated. Like I said - its really mad. And will get madder, before the end. Hope you enjoy!**

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Witches swooped past on broomsticks, spiraling through the strings of a mobile made of rainbows and stars. Conjurors gestured over smoking cauldrons. Tiny children held running races along the bookshelf tops.

"Mad, ain't it?" said Milly. "That's why I hide out in the teen section."

A green mass lifted slimy tentacles to avoid the six-inch high pony, galloping across the floor.

"Why are there so many witches?"

She shrugged. "Kids stories are big on fantasy. Lots of princesses, witches, magicians. And ghosts, too," she added, stepping around the green jelly. "And ponies. Real big on ponies, for some reason. Don't get it myself. Now dogs – dogs I like. Wish there were more books about dogs."

"Woof!" agreed Fluff.

"They'll be over here," she said. "In the Just Returned shelf."

A broomstick swooped past her head, and she swatted her shimmering, translucent arms at it. "Hey!"

A witch cackled, and pulled at her hair. A tiny golden ball whizzed past, humming. Its little wings beat furiously at the library air, and nearly tangled in the strings of the mobile.

"That's a snitch!" I called.

"A what?" said Milly, still wrestling with her assailant.

"Hey," called a familiar voice. "It's the Fat Lady."

Down came Malfoy on his broom. It was Draco, looking the same age as his son. Like his son, he was sneering. It seems to be an inherited expression of the Malfoy family. Other families look thoughtful or brave or clever. The Malfoys just look as though they think they're better than everyone.

"You're awfully young," I said to him.

"You're awfully fat," he said, smiling at his brilliant repartee.

Milly twisted the witch's broomstick, sending the woman flying in dizzying circles. The woman laughed and flew away, up into the stars of the mobile.

Milly smiled. "That got her." She looked critically at Malfoy. "For someone from a best-seller, you're real thick. She ain't fat. She's as skinny as a piece of paper."

Malfoy looked put out. "What are you doing here? You're not even a proper character. You're just a cartoon."

"Young man," said a burly man dressed in a seafarer's uniform, "Are you saying a cartoon can't be a real character?"

Malfoy swallowed. "Um, no sir. Not at all, Captain Haddock, sir."

"Look out!" I called, and we all ducked, just as a bludger passed by.

"Thank you, Madam." The Captain removed his hat, and bowed. Taking my hand, he kissed the air above it. What a gentleman! What wonderful manners.

"Oh, sir," I said, and could feel myself blushing. "Oh goodness me."

"It's the Fat Lady," said the bossy voice of Miss Grainger. "What are you doing here? You're not even _in_ the _Deathly Hallows_."

"She's from another book," said Malfoy. "There's seven of them, you know."

"I'm not fictional," I said. "I'm from Hogwarts."

"The book Hogwarts?"

"The real Hogwarts. I'm supposed to be in my portrait," I said. "But that wretched Scorpius Malfoy…"

"Scorpius?" said Malfoy. "There's no one of that name in my family."

"There is now."

"The thing is," said Milly, "She shouldn't be here at all. She's a portrait, not a character."

"You're a portrait, too, you stupid cartoon," said Malfoy.

The Captain removed the pipe from his mouth. "Billions of Blue Blistering Barnacles! You need a good thrashing, young man."

He reached out a brawny arm and in one swift move, knocked Malfoy off his broomstick. The boy lay on his back, twitching like a beached fish. His face was flushed and angry. He reached into the pocket of his quidditch uniform, feeling for something. His wand.

"Oh no you don't," said Miss Grainger, pointing her own wand at him. "Take your hand away from your pocket. Away, I said!"

"You filthy little mud-blood," hissed Malfoy. "You shouldn't even be playing quidditch. You're not supposed to. You never do in the books."

"I wanted to do something different," Hermione said. "We're allowed to do something different, sometimes, aren't we?"

I patted her on the shoulder. I'd forgotten how caught up this girl could become with doing the Right Thing. "Rules," I said, "are made to be broken."

"Very good, madam," said the Captain. "Couldn't put it better myself."

He really was a fine figure of a man, even though he looked a little – well, cartoon-like. But I could tell he had depth, dimensions if you will, from the way he surveyed the world. Like a man who knows the world is full of disappointment, yet still faces the day with hope.

"Thank you," I said.

"Hold it!" called a girl's voice. Abruptly, the room fell silent. All the characters from all the books darted into the deepest, quietest shadows. It was like watching mice scattering when Mrs. Norris arrived.

"Hold it!" Across the room stalked the girl with the bow. She was aiming it at Malfoy, still lying on the floor. "You!" she said. "I warned you once. Stay out of my way."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: The Final Chapter. Hope you enjoy! When you get to the end, read the whole thing through again. Hopefully, it will make sense (sort of!). And remember, there's always magic in a library...**

**P.S. Millie and Fluff are from a children's story I wrote, still languishing on an agent's slush pile. To me they are real characters, but they haven't escaped into the general consciousness (yet)...**

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Malfoy lifted his hands high. "I don't know…"

"I do," she said fiercely. "You're not even supposed to be here."

"Of course I am," he said. "I'm Malfoy."

She looked puzzled. "From Harry Potter?"

"No!" said Malfoy crossly. "I'm from _Deathly Hallows_."

"She means, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_," said Milly. "Yeah. He's from Harry Potter. He just don't like to say it. He's not in your dumb book. You've got him mixed up with someone else. Don't know what you're doing here. This is the kids section, not YA."

The girl released the arrow, tucked it back in its quiver. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought this was the Game." She looked around at the children's section. "Where has everyone gone?"

"You're creeping them out," said Milly. "They're scared of you."

Malfoy struggled to his feet, grumbling. "Why does everyone call the books after Potter? It's not as though he's that important."

"I'm sorry," the girl rubbed her eyes. "That's what my story does; it makes me paranoid. Everyone's an enemy, all the time."

"Not me," said Malfoy, quickly. "I'm not your enemy."

"Or me," said Hermione

"Or me," said Milly.

"Nor I," said the Captain.

Malfoy reached over to the girl, touched her on the hand. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Katniss," she said.

"You know how to play quidditch, Katniss?"

"No."

"Would you like me to teach you?" Malloy's face was strangely gentle.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "I can play the Game later, can't I?"

"Do you want to?"

She shrugged. "It's not as though I get much choice."

"Use my broom, Malfoy," said Harry Potter, striding out of the darkened corner. In the background I heard rustling, the characters whispering to one another

"_It's Harry Potter! The Harry Potter!" _

"_Sold a million copies." _

"_A million? I heard a billion."_

"Thanks," said Malfoy. "Here Katniss. You sit astride it like this. Lean into it, and tell it where you want to go."

The girl did as she was told, and the broom shot up into the air. I heard the echo of her laughter as she flew away, Malfoy in hot pursuit.

"She's good," said Harry. He looked at me. "Hey, it's the Fat Lady. What are you doing here?"

"Ignorant Iconoclast!" shouted the Captain. "Try and be a little polite, young man."

"It's alright," I said. "It's my name. He doesn't mean to be rude." I turned to Harry. "You're from the book. I'm from the real. Well, the real Hogwarts."

"Damn silly name," murmured the Captain. "Not even accurate."

"Hogwarts really exists?" whispered Hermione.

"Of course it exists! Why do you think you people are all so life-like?"

Then I remembered, the house-elves groaning about the writer lady, caught scurrying away from the whomping willow. A muggle they'd said, but not a real one. Not a proper muggle. She could work magic with her pen. Some muggles, they said, had that gift. They could twist the world and make it live.

"In your world, madam, portraits may move?" asked the Captain. "All the time?"

"Of course," I said.

"May I visit?"

"Sir," I said, "I would be honoured. But I do not know how to return."

Hermione frowned. "There is a spell. I've read about it."

"You mean, they have proper spells in a muggle library?"

"Of course," said Milly. "You can find _everything_, in a library."

"She needs to find Dorothy," said Hermione. "You know? The Wizard of Oz?"

"I don't like her," said Milly. "She's got a stupid dog. He tried to eat Fluff."

"You know where she is?"

"Course. Up there. She's over that rainbow." She pointed at the mobile. "Ooi, you! Dorothy!" She put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled. Fluff perked up his ears and barked a tiny bark.

Along the roof floated a brightly coloured balloon. Tied to the bottom of it was a tiny basket and inside the basket stood an equally tiny girl. She waved to us.

"I'll go and talk to her," said Harry.

"I'll go," said Hermione. "I know the spell."

"Are we really real?" said Harry to me, as Hermione whizzed away.

I shrugged. What is real? "I've known you since you were a tiny boy."

He looked puzzled. "But I only went to Hogwarts when I was eleven."

"Eleven? You came to Hogwarts when you were, oh, I don't know. When did Lily and James start teaching? I suppose you would have been three."

"Three?"

"You could have been four, I suppose." I smiled, remembering tiny Harry running along the corridor trying to catch Mrs Norris. "You were a bit of a handful."

"You said 'Lily and James'," whispered Harry. "do you mean, my parents?"

"Of course. They job-shared, so they could look after you. They taught Defence against the Dark Arts. Well, they were the best qualified for it, weren't they?"

Harry took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes. His voice was muffled. "At the real Hogwarts, are my parents still alive?"

"Of course they're alive." Wait a minute. What was he saying? "Are they… are they _dead_ in the books?"

He nodded. The room was growing grey with early morning. Many of the characters were yawning. The younger ones, the babies and the tiny animals, had vanished into their story books. Harry's eyes seemed to shine. Was he crying? How could someone deprive a child of his own parents? Even if he was a fictional character? "That's terrible! Of course they're alive."

"Are they," he whispered, "still at Hogwarts?"

"No. They've retired. Gone to live near you and Ginny."

"Me and Ginny?" He looked amazed.

"He ain't read the last book yet. He don't know about Ginny," whispered Milly. "Here's Hermione."

"They're a bit smelly," said Hermione, getting off the broomstick. She handed me a pair of silver shoes. "But you can have them. She said she doesn't want them any more. She said she is home."

My feet are wide, like the rest of me. Really, I should be called the wide lady, not the fat lady. "They won't fit."

"They're _magic_ shoes," said Milly. "Course they'll fit. Do you want to go home or don't you?"

I smiled at her, at Hermione in a quidditch uniform, at Malfoy, buzzing up by the roof-beams with a girl and at Harry, looking younger and happier than I'd ever seen him – real or not. Milly looked up at me, and in the growing light she seemed to glisten.

"Madam," said the Captain, kneeling slightly stiffly at my feet, "May I?"

He lifted my foot, and very gently, pushed the red shoe on. It fitted perfectly. He set my foot down. "Aha," he said. "It was you, at the ball after all."

"She's not _Cinderella_," said Milly.

"I understand," said the Captain, putting on the other shoe. "But the reference is too good to pass up."

I helped him to his feet. His hand was warm in mine, and very firm. "You want to come with me?" I whispered.

"Ten thousand thundering typhoons!" he said, "I'd say I do!"

"Better hurry up," said Milly, "it's getting light outside."

I turned to Hermione. "What do I do?"

"Tap your heels together and say," she said, and turned to the other characters, waving at them as a conductor waves a baton to an orchestra.

Together, they cried: "There's no place like home. There's no place like home! There's no place like home!""

I joined in the chorus, shouting the words with them. And the world twisted, and seemed to shatter into light.

Through the tumbling and the swirling the Captain's well-drawn hand stayed tight on mine. "Billions of bilious blue barnacles! Ten thousand thundering typhoons! Lily-livered poltroon; stand firm, sir, I say."

And finally, the world cleared and calmed and settled. And here I stood, inside my portrait, with Captain Haddock's hand in mine.

A little girl looked up at us.

"Ooh," said Clarice Longbottom, "I like your shoes. Where did you get them?"

I smiled at her. "Do you want to go inside?"

"Yes please."

"Well, what's the password then?"

"_Think thin_."

"I think I'll change that one," I called to her, as she went through the door.

"What will you change it to?" whispered Captain Haddock. His voice was low and husky and, oh my, how wonderful to have a man in my frame, after all these years of standing solo. Perhaps Malfoy had done me a favor, after all. Perhaps I should be nicer to that little snit. Perhaps.

"There's no place like home," I said. "What do you think?"

"It's very good," he smiled. "Very good indeed. So tell me, how long have you been at Hogwarts?"

"How long have I been at Hogwarts?" I smiled and reached over to kiss him. His beard was scratchy against my cheek. "Oh, a very long time."


End file.
